Chapter 44
Isabelle
I was never more aware of my posture than when I was sitting in my childhood home. Today it was even more pronounced because
I was going to give them some news they weren’t going to like.
A couple weeks after the interview, I took the train to DC early Saturday morning to have lunch with my parents. They were
both traveling the next day, which provided me an out for leaving directly after lunch in case the news didn’t go over well,
and I suspected it wouldn’t.
“There’s someone we’d like to introduce you to.” My dad cut into his fish and took a bite. He didn’t wait for me to ask what
he meant; he kept going. “He’s a Harvard man, graduated law school there a few years ago. Now he’s working with Senator Alders,
and his own political career will likely follow,” my dad continued; his deep voice took command of the formal dining room
like it was guarding the exits. “Numerous accolades from the firm he works at. His father is a lawyer as well. His name is
Alexander Ray.”
“I’m already seeing someone,” I said curtly, not looking up from my dinner. He hadn’t even acknowledged his visit. “And I didn’t ask for his résumé first, by the way.”
My dad’s eyebrows jumped. His chest filled with air slowly. He looked at my mom expectantly. When she didn’t say anything,
he put his fork down with a frustrated huff.
“Carolina,” my dad addressed my mom.
He always had my mom deliver bad news because he thought I was purposefully obstinate when it came to getting advice or information
in general from him.
“Isa,” my mom said warmly. “You’re finally finishing residency; you can look to the next steps and now you’ll have time to
consider them seriously.”
The ladder only got taller because I never stopped to think about when I was done climbing. I was happy with where I was,
and I was happy with my choices.
“I am taking my next steps seriously.” I put my utensils down. I wasn’t very hungry anyway and I needed to rip this bandage off.
“In fact, I turned down the Winthrop fellowship. I spoke to Dr. Reinhold, and he invited me to interview for the sports medicine
fellowship. I have a few items I need to complete before it’s official, but I’m starting next fall.”
Turning down the fellowship felt like finishing one of those insane reformer Pilates classes Selena did.
Sheer relief.
My father’s eyes flashed. He abruptly threw his napkin on the table, pushed himself back, and walked away. “Carolina, talk
to her.”
“Felix,” my mom called as he stomped down the hallway. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You two.”
“Mom.” I turned to her apologetically because her voice was wrapped in what sounded like genuine concern, which was ridiculous given how low the stakes were. “I can’t do this anymore.”
“Isa.”
I pushed myself back from the table, itching to get up and walk away. But I didn’t. I stayed there, pushed myself back toward
the table, and forced myself to deal with a conversation that made me nervous.
“I can’t keep chasing a goal with every breath I have if it’s not what I want,” I explained.
“Suddenly you don’t want this?” she questioned pointedly. Behind the sharpness in her tone there was something softer. Hurt
or disappointment—either way it was more painful than if she were upset.
A silence dropped over us, the kind I tried to avoid. It was the silence that twelve-year-old Isa had hated because it was
always the one proceeded by a lecture on how important every single decision I made was to my future. No room for missteps.
I couldn’t pin it all on my parents, though. A lot of the pressure was internal. Because girl power. And girl bossing. And
being the doctor that society always wanted you to marry. Those words were like gospel to me, internalized until it felt like
I had to be infallible. Any imperfection was failure.
That mentality provided me the success I enjoyed today but it also stole any grace I could give myself to be human.
“I came here to tell you that I love my job, but I’m not accepting the Winthrop fellowship,” I repeated firmly, summoning the courage to look her in the eyes and the determination to sit in the silence for as long as I needed to make sure they knew the decision would stick.
“I found something else I enjoy doing. I don’t care about the legacy as much as I do my happiness. ”
Another stifling silence hung over us. Inside this one, I watched as my mom’s eyes moved along in thought. Her face softened
and she nodded.
At that table, after my dad got annoyed with me and walked off, I was a kid again.
Since we were there, I thought I may as well ask the question I was always too scared to, mostly because I wasn’t sure I wanted
the answer. “Do you regret having me?”
A part of me always figured I held her back. All my drive to be like my dad was because I didn’t want to end up like her.
Because she got stuck being the mom while my dad got to be everything else.
“Isa.” My mom pushed back in her seat and sat up rigidly straight like she’d just been electrocuted. She shook her head disbelievingly.
“Why would you—
“You’re so invested in my career, it always felt like it was because you had to give up parts of yours.” I finally managed
to verbalize the thought that crept in the back of my mind for years. “Like I was your redemption.”
I tried so hard to be self-sufficient so nobody could pin their unhappiness on me. It was only when I saw my mom’s shoulders relax, the corners of her mouth drop, and her
chest round forward with a deep exhale that I realized nobody ever had.
“I’m at the place in my career where you changed yours,” I added.
I didn’t need to remind her or myself because I saw it in the way she looked at me the last year. Like she was nervous; something akin to a new mom watching her child take their first few steps. Waiting, hoping, praying they wouldn’t fall.
“No. Never,” she answered firmly, but her chin wobbled. She stood from her seat at the far side of the table and sat down
next to me. She put her hand on mine. I looked down because the glassiness in her eyes was surely going to bring on tears
in mine. “Isabelle, look at me.”
I did and sucked in a deep breath, hoping the vacuum would suck back the mistiness in my eyes.
“I need you to understand and know that all of my choices were my choices.” She grasped my chin tightly. “I have never regretted raising my remarkable daughter.”
I nodded. She let go of my chin and tried not to look down. “Not even when it kept you from all that Dad got to do for his
life?”
I had violin recitals and debate team and Model UN. My mom was around for almost all of it. She took days off, cut her OR
schedule short, passed up conferences because she didn’t want me to look out into the crowd and not see her.
“In those moments, I wondered about the road not taken,” she admitted. “And we didn’t have any more children because I needed
to be back at work. I needed it. But Isa, of all the achievements I’ve made—because they may not be as well publicized as your father’s, but they are there—you
have always been my greatest.” Her voice cracked and every syllable resonated in my chest. She looked me square in the eye
as her tears smeared her mascara. “My joy, my pride, my reason for being from the day you were born.”
I nodded again, wiping the few tears that dared defy direct orders from my brain.
“I pushed you because . . .” She took a deep breath to reset some of the emotion in the room. “Well . . . I guess I wanted
to save you from ever having this conversation with your own daughter one day. I never wanted that shadow for you.”
“If you could change—”
“No,” she interrupted sternly. “I wanted you to have the freedom to choose anything. I’m sorry that it became pushing you
in a direction, making you believe there’s only one outcome.”
I wanted a life. A full one. One where I enjoyed my work but had other passions to get to after work was done. I didn’t want
to burn the candle on both ends like the Winthrop fellowship was known to do. I wanted to do something I loved and go home
to people I loved.
That choice wasn’t the weakness I’d thought it was. If anything, it was the strength in knowing ambition doesn’t just disappear
when life takes a turn you weren’t expecting, it simply flows in a new direction.
I nodded.
“I’m not doing the Winthrop fellowship, Mom.” This time it was more of a question. I told her and my dad as my own person
making my own choices.
Now I wanted to know what she thought.
She smiled. “Institutional validation is wonderful but hollow. Why do you think your father chases a new award every few months?”
I never thought of it like that. In contrast to my dad, my mom was steadfast. Not much shook her confidence. I was realizing now that it was because she was her own vibrant person outside of work.
“And remember, you can have a family if you want one . . . one day,” she added cautiously. “Moms aren’t the only ones who
can be the primary parent. Women aren’t the only ones capable of raising children.”
I smiled. The image of Austin patiently teaching Jo filled my eyes. I wasn’t sure when I’d be ready for that, but there was
lightness with knowing I didn’t need to know yet.
“I love you, Mom,” I croaked.
“And don’t worry about your father.” She pulled me into a hug so tight I felt the bottom of her rings on my ribs. “He’s so
hard on you in front of you, thinking it’ll make you tough. Give it some time. Focus on you. When he realizes that you’ve
made your decision, he’ll also realize just how much you take after him.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes,” she cooed, stroking my hair like she had when I was a kid. “Now . . . will you tell me about this young man sometime?”
“He’s, like, sort of old,” I blurted.
My mom pushed my shoulders back, her eyes wide. “How old?”
“Like eight years older than me . . .”
“Dios, Isa.” She shook her head and let out a sigh. “Nobody can ever accuse you of being dishonest.”